Confrontation and Candlelight
by starry19
Summary: 'Jane couldn't help himself, and he looked around as though he was searching for something. "Hm, well, I don't see any art thieves on our floor, and definitely none where you're standing." '


**AN:** This is based entirely off of promo pictures, so I suppose I'll give out a warning for spoilers. Okay, one promo picture. I feel like I write this in all of the notes for the stories I never intend to write, but I just couldn't help myself.

**Confrontation and Candlelight**

He was making his second cup of tea for the day when Wylie found him. Jane greeted the other man warmly, pouring the milk expertly into his new white cup. Somedays he still caught himself looking for turquoise Fiestaware in the cupboards, but that didn't matter so much anymore. He had what he really wanted, even if what he really wanted currently happened to be taking a potential suspect into custody with Cho.

She'd be back soon, would be close enough to touch again. And then, at the end of the day, she'd walk out with him, would spend the rest of the night at his side.

Life was decidedly good, lack of his favorite cup notwithstanding.

"Uh, Jane..." Wylie was hovering, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

Jane looked up, felt his eyebrows furrow. "Yes?"

Wylie took a deep breath, darted his eyes around, then lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "Pike is in the bullpen."

Jane stared, uncomprehending for a moment. Then, "What?"

"Pike is in the bullpen," Wylie repeated. "Marcus Pike, you know the guy who-"

"Yeah," he interrupted. "I remember him, believe me. What's he doing here?"

Wylie shrugged. "No idea, man. But he's standing over by Lisbon's desk. Did she know he was going to be here?"

It was an inane question, but one that worried him nonetheless. And then he was immediately annoyed with himself.

"I don't know," he replied, setting his half-made cup down with a soft clink. His phone was in his hand before he consciously thought to reach for it.

"Hey," came Lisbon's voice after a few rings. "What's up? We'll be back there in fifteen or so."

"Marcus Pike is here," he said without preamble.

There was a very loaded pause. "Uh. Why?" she finally asked, and the genuine trepidation in her voice told him she hadn't known this was coming and he relaxed marginally.

"I don't know," he told her. "I haven't spoken to him. Clearly, he wants something. He's at your desk," he added.

"Jesus," Lisbon whispered, more to herself than him.

"Fifteen minutes?" Jane verified. "I'm sure he'll still be here."

Uncharacteristically, she told him she loved him before disconnecting the call. Most of the time, she tried to maintain her professional persona at work, and especially in front of other agents, Cho included. But it was like she was reminding him now, and he was grateful for it.

With a deep sigh, he straightened his shoulders and left the break room. He wasn't going to hide in here like a coward, nor was he going to leave Lisbon to take the brunt of whatever this visit would bring.

Ten seconds later, the other man came into clear focus. He looked like hell. Jane understood that - he'd been a mess without Lisbon, too. Both times he'd been away from her for any length of time. In Vegas, he looked like a homeless man. In South America, he'd been an unshaven beach bum who didn't even wear pants.

Pike turned towards him, and Jane fought to keep his expression steady. There would never be anything but dislike between the two of them, though Jane could muster some sympathy for the agent.

He did not extend his hand, instead shoving them in his pockets. Pike crossed his arms over his chest, defensive and confrontational.

For just a second, Jane wondered why the hell Pike was here. Was he making a play for Lisbon again? Some grand gesture, showing up unannounced in the office, hoping to sweep her off her feet?

It had been an easy task, the first time around, for many and varied reasons. Jane would not allow it to be easy again. Pike could fight for her, but so could he. And he would win. He didn't care what it would take - he would cheat, lie, and play dirty. It didn't matter.

He wasn't giving Lisbon up. Not now, now that he knew what it was like to wake up to her dark hair trailing across his chest, to bury his face in her neck, to move inside of her.

Of course, he realized with a start, Pike knew what all those things were like, too.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth when he spoke. "Marcus," he said, deliberately using his first name. "What brings you to our little corner of the country?"

Pike did not uncross his arms. "The tail end of a case led me to Austin. I'm dealing with a fairly well-know thief that does quite a bit of business here. He's been very active again lately."

Jane couldn't help himself, and he looked around as though he was searching for something. "Hm, well, I don't see any art thieves on our floor, and definitely none where you're standing."

Pike raised his chin. "I wanted to stop in and see Teresa," he said. "However, I at least didn't have to manufacture a case to do that."

Jane let the blow roll of off him. It didn't matter. Yes, it had been a stupid idea, but the end results had been more than worth it. "She's not here," Jane stated obviously.

"I see that," Pike replied, tone annoyed, and Jane mentally gave himself a point. "But I have something to say to you, too."

Jane shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and waited, chin raised a little.

Pike took a breath. "Partly, I came here to see if you really wanted her, or if that stunt you pulled was just to make sure no one else could have her either. So," he went on. "Are you two together? Or did you give her some line about not quite being ready but if she'd just wait a little longer, you could get your life together? She would, you know. Wait, that is. She'd do anything you asked her, and I don't think I can ever forgive you for that."

Jane wasn't going to defend his relationship, would not stoop to using Lisbon's name as a barb. "I'm not asking for forgiveness," he said instead. "I don't particularly care what you think of me."

"Are you making her happy?" Pike asked, and there was venom in his tone.

"You'd have to ask her that," he returned, voice cold, though he really didn't want Pike to talk to Lisbon, period.

"I'm going to," the other man promised.

"Ask me what?" Lisbon piped in, appearing at his elbow. As focused as he'd been on Pike, Jane hadn't even noticed her approach. She stood very close, and the gesture wasn't lost on him. There was a time, not very long ago, where he had been the one standing by himself.

"Teresa," Pike said, his face lighting up, though he did make a token attempt to look guarded. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a bit."

"Um," she began, flicking her eyes up at him, almost like she was asking permission. But this was her call. "Sure," she acquiesced, and Jane didn't realize until then how much he wanted her to say no.

He bit back a barbaric urge to toss her over his shoulder and flee.

Lisbon squeezed his arm lightly as she passed, and he knew she was trying to reassure him. It should have made him feel better. Instead, it made her absence worse.

He sat on the couch and tried not to think of what Pike was telling her. Probably making sure she wasn't having second thoughts, regretting calling off their engagement, telling her he was a wreck without her, trying to appeal to her caring nature.

He tasted acid in the back of his throat.

There was no way this ploy would work. Unless...well, unless Lisbon really was regretting how things had worked out.

Suddenly, he was terrified. She could leave him, could still decide that his bevy of issues was too much to handle, could decide the apologies he had started to make for his many sins weren't enough.

He closed his eyes.

How long had she been gone? Twenty minutes? A half hour?

Too long, far too long.

He could feel himself unravelling.

He cradled his head in his hands, fingertips pressed against his ears, blocking out noise. They'd had two weeks together, that was all. Would that be enough to carry him through for the years ahead?

He felt the couch depress slightly, and he opened his eyes. Lisbon was there, and he knew instantly she'd been crying. His heart fell like a rock. He felt sick.

She wrapped her hand around his arm, sliding it down until she could tangle their fingers together. He took a breath for the first time in ages.

"Are you okay?" he asked, not recognizing his voice.

She nodded, but scooted closer. He let go of her hand, put his arm around her instead. The fact that she let him told him she was very upset indeed.

"Want me to go find him and beat him up?" he asked helplessly.

Lisbon laughed, though there was a touch of hysteria to it. Then she stretched up and kissed his cheek. "Make this day end," she whispered. "I just want to go home."

He held her just a bit tighter, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "You know, I haven't had much luck with adjusting the time-space continuum, but I'll certainly try."

She sat up in another minute, and he let his arm fall away.

When she moved back to her desk, diligently trying to work, he stretched out, mind going too fast.

She had come back to him today, and he was grateful for that. But she was upset, clearly, and some primal part of him loathed that it was because of another man.

At 5:00, he stood quietly at the edge of her desk. She glanced up, then pushed her chair back, reaching for her blazer and her bag. They walked in silence to the elevator. "Do you want me to come over?" he asked as they waited for the carriage to arrive.

Lisbon looked at him like he'd grown another head. "I thought we were past the point where you had to ask."

Until today, he'd thought they were, too. In fact, he hadn't spent a night away from her since they'd come back from Miami. The elevator gave a _ding_, and they stepped forward.

"Want me to grab something for dinner?" he asked they crossed the parking lot.

She offered him a smile. "Sure."

He kissed her lightly before closing her car door. Lisbon hadn't told him what she wanted, so he went with what was becoming their old standby: Il Tavolo Bianco. He'd brought them dinner from there their very first night together. The memory made him smile.

Lisbon had been very unwilling to leave the house, claiming exhaustion and a strong desire to stay in her yoga pants. He wasn't going to deny her anything, not that night, so he'd called in the order and promised to hurry back.

Driving there, he'd gotten an idea, and had hastily made a detour and several quick stops.

Lisbon had not been prepared for him to ring the doorbell when he returned. She was less prepared for the dozen roses he was holding.

"Jane, what in the world..." She'd trailed off, taking the vase from him.

"It's our first date tonight," he'd told her, still standing in the entryway. "What's a first date without flowers?"

Her smile had been from ear to ear, and he made a mental note to pay regular visits to the florist. "Now," he went on, "you need to go to your room for about, oh, five minutes."

Lisbon had stared.

"Trust me," he'd said softly, tipping her chin up and kissing her. "Don't come out until I tell you."

Shaking her head, she'd left, and he'd made a mad dash to the car and back inside.

Precisely five minutes and fifteen seconds later, he called her out, and the look on her face had been worth everything. He'd made their impromptu dinner a candlelight one, and, since he was one for effect, he'd used a _lot_ of candles. They were everywhere, on her countertop, the bookshelves, any place he thought he could put one.

In the flickering light, he'd sworn he saw a tear streak down her face.

Later, some of the candles had found their way to her bedroom, and he would never forget what their first time had felt like.

Yes, a very good memory indeed.

They'd ordered from there once more since, and now tonight.

Lisbon was most of the way through a glass of wine when he arrived, her nerves still clearly unsettled. They ate in silence, then he shooed her out of the kitchen as he cleaned up.

She watched him from her place on the couch, but her eyes were far away.

Carefully, slowly, he sat beside her, took the now-empty glass from her limp fingers. "Want to talk about it?" he asked.

She shook her head decisively. "No." Then she sighed. "He wanted to know if I was sure, wanted to hear it in person."

His heart was in his mouth. "And are you sure?" he whispered. "After all, this is still your choice. He could make you happy, you know."

Lisbon's eyes flashed as she turned to him, but then she softened. She reached out to touch his cheek. "Patrick," she murmured. "Are you afraid I'll leave?"

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

She pressed closer, wrapped both of her arms around him. He let out a deep sigh, nose in her hair again, fingers splayed across her back. He never wanted to take for granted how this felt.

"I love you, you idiot," she told him. The words still made him ache. She kissed his hair. "Would you really have let me go if I said I wanted to be with him?"

He shook his head against her. "Not without one hell of a fight."

He could tell she was smiling when she spoke again. "You know, for such an arrogant man, you really are alarmingly insecure sometimes."

Before he was quite ready to let go, she pushed him back against the couch.

But then he saw her face, recognized the dark heat in her eyes.

She climbed into his lap, methodically undid the top buttons of his shirt. His hands automatically went to her hips. She tipped his head back, kissed her way up the column of his throat. "I want you," she whispered. "I think I need to give you a refresher course in just how much."

His blood heated. "Please," he managed to choke out.

And, in fact, that was the _only_ thing he managed to say for some time.


End file.
